


The Outsider

by bookwormchocaholic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Not everything is what it seems, Speculative, a little anti killian, anti milah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 09:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13878426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwormchocaholic/pseuds/bookwormchocaholic
Summary: Belle, despite warnings and concerns from her father and friends, writes letters to prisoners. She develops a special bond with Mr. Gold, who is imprisoned for the murder of his wife. When he's finally released from prison, more challenges arise.





	The Outsider

**Author's Note:**

> I found this on @rumbelleprompts and I wrote this about a month ago. Its not beta’ed, its probably not good. This story came after a long bout of writer’s block.

_Dearest Belle,_   
_I am to be released in three days. I’ll be a free man for the first time in a decade._

Belle let out an odd squawk of surprise as she skimmed over the contents of the letter. The noise drew the attention of the others in the post office and sent them into a flurry of loud whispers. She crushed the missive to her chest, closed and locked her P.O. box and wove through the jampacked crowd, bumping into a couple of people in her eagerness to get outside. Catching her heel on the edge of the revolving door, she staggered onto the sidewalk and scrambled to an empty bench, which would give her time to properly peruse Gold’s letter.

For two years, she and Damian Gold corresponded while he served the remainder of his prison sentence.

“For the love of God, Belle, have you lost your mind?” Her father roared and pumped his huge fist when she announced that she had a pen pal in prison. “He could be a serial killer for all we know and you’ve given him your address and telling him personal things!”

The correspondence program ensured safety above all. The prisoners involved had been vetted and were allowed to participate because of exemplary behavior. Belle had arranged to have all of Gold’s letters sent to a P.O. box and initially she only divulged vague facts about herself, and used her mother’s maiden name as her own. But over that two-year span, she became acquainted and comfortable with the shy, reserved prisoner. He was intelligent, articulate, witty, he hailed from Scotland, he once owned an antique shop. He loved to read and could coherently discuss literature. As a librarian, she could appreciate that. She felt comfortable enough to share her story with him and he shared some of his with her. They never once referenced the obvious – the reason he was in prison. She had been too afraid to pry, fearing that her opinion of him would change, and he never volunteered that information.

Then her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she looked up old newspaper articles. According to them, Gold had murdered his wife. A devoted husband and father and pillar of the community turned murderer. They had been arguing, his wife Milah said that she didn’t love him and that she had found someone new. So, he shoved her down a flight of stairs in a fit of rage. And his son…disappeared. The police suspected Gold of foul play, but they never could find a body. Gold had claimed that his son ran away, however, they weren’t about to take the word of a murderer.

Gold pled guilty to murdering his wife. Never blinked an eye about it.

Case closed.

Something compelled her to continue writing…A morbid curiosity, perhaps. Despite the evil he had committed, Gold intrigued her. She wanted to figure him out. She had wanted to discover why a family man killed his family.

Belle swallowed and she gripped one of the seat planks, her manicured nails scraping into the rain-softened wood.

The day of Gold’s release had always been something that would occur in the future. A someday sort of thing. Flipping over the envelope, Belle estimated by the postdate that he had left the confines of prison and he was now a free man.

_A former convict…a murderer has been let loose on society._

Belle shook her head, dismissing the thought. Gold was more than that. Somehow, during their correspondence, he had become her friend.

She glanced at the letter again and her breath hitched in her chest as she read the next part.

_Could we meet? I will be in Storybrooke this Saturday. If you want to meet, at noon, I will be at the park beneath the tulip tree, the one you called The Sweetheart Tree. You mentioned it in one of your letters. If you don’t show, I’ll understand and I’ll take it as a sign that it is time for us both to move on._

_Whatever you decide, I thank you for the friendship you have offered me._

_Yours Truly,_   
_Damian Gold_

Belle folded the paper up and slid it back into the envelope. She stuck it into her jacket pocket and sighed. A murderer wanted to meet her. Every voice within cried out for her to wad up the letter and forget that she had ever heard of Damian Gold. For all she knew, she could end up as his next victim. But that morbid curiosity resurfaced within her, to meet a murderer and live to tell about it. It would be a story she could share at the next Girl’s Night Out.

Her resolve finally wavered when it occurred to her that one meeting with Gold couldn’t hurt.

#

Belle lapped the park for the third time, scanning the idyllic scenery for an unfamiliar face. Gold never had sent her the photograph she had requested – despite the fact that she had sent him one - but in a town as small as Storybrooke, it would be easy to recognize a newcomer. Anyone who had not lived in Storybrooke for at least fifteen years was considered a stranger. Thankfully, she and her family had arrived from Australia when she was ten and she was dearly loved in Storybrooke.

Belle slowed her pace as she approached The Sweetheart Tree once more, her gaze narrowing in on an unfamiliar middle-aged man with longish greying hair. He was wearing a three-piece suit and resting against the trunk of the tree. Could it be? She had nothing to go on and Gold never offered a description of himself in his letters. Perhaps this is a bad idea.

Again, her curiosity was too intense that she couldn’t pull herself away. If he posed any danger, in a wide-open space such as a park, all she had to do was scream and someone would come to her aid.

Inhaling, she figured it was now or never.

Belle paused a few feet away, a safe enough distance. “Um, excuse me, are you Damian Gold?” Her words quavered, betraying her fear. But there was no going back. Not now.

The man whipped around, his soft eyes widened. The ends of his mouth curled upwards. “Belle?” He stumbled back a couple paces. “You – your picture doesn’t do you justice.”

Belle blushed and her two front teeth sank into her lower lip. “Thank you.”

Her mind was like a dry-erase board – every thought had been wiped away. She was too taken back by how polished his manners were. From her limited knowledge of convicts – fueled by books, movies, and television – Gold hardly matched the stereotype. He was short, thin, and his hands, his long tapering fingers were beautiful in their own right. There were no grotesque tattoos or hideous piercings. Only the flash of a gold tooth in his mouth stood out to her.

No, he did not look like a murderer at all.

“I, uh…” Belle balled her hands into fists, regretting that she had dressed in a simple peasant blouse, jeans and sneakers when he looked so good. She looked like a slob. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Gold assured her, waving his hand franticly. His accent was thicker and more intense when he was flustered, and sent a wicked tingle throughout her body. “I only wanted to meet you, to thank you for your letters and for your friendship. It meant more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Belle nodded and hugged herself. “I enjoyed our correspondence too.”

Gold slid his hand into his pocket and withdrew a wooden heart-shaped object. “This is for you.” He passed it to her, mumbling, “It’s not much, just a small jewelry box. I made it.”

Belle cradled it in her hands and stroked the top of it with her thumb, marveling at the rose design that he had carved into it. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked to keep the tears from falling. “Do you know what you’re going to do now?”

He shook his head. “No, but I’ll figure something out.” He smiled and glancing at his wrist watch, he frowned and seemed to be on the verge of leaving. “Well, I won’t keep you. Thank you for letting me see you…meet you in person. I wish you well.”

One more glimpse at the jewelry box, Belle decided that this couldn’t be it. She couldn’t let him go off and never see him again. Never hear from him. Gold was a murderer and she should be frightened of him, she should keep as far away from him as humanly possible.

Instead, he captivated her. He was an enigma wrapped in a mystery. Exchanging letters hadn’t been enough. Her questions on how he could have killed his wife had never been answered. Oh, all of the investigators had been able to deduce all of the important facts…but to her, so much did not make sense.

“Why don’t you stay in Storybrooke?” Belle suggested. “It’s a small town, but its charming and a great place for new beginnings.”

Gold averted his gaze and stared for a moment at his dress shoes. “Are you sure? I don’t want to-”

“Yes!” Belle tentatively extended her hand and cheered inwardly when Gold’s warm, calloused fingers enclosed around hers.

#

Belle felt as though the eyes of Storybrooke were on her as she crossed the threshold of Granny’s Diner. She ducked her head and darted for the table where Gold said that he would be waiting. They met up a couple times a week, chatted, shared a meal, or went for walks.

The lively chatter had diminished as soon as she slid into booth. She cringing when her bare thighs squelched against the cheap leather of the seat, but didn’t regret wearing the lacey blue A-line frock. Since their first face-to-face meeting, Belle made certain that she was dressed to the nines whenever she stirred outdoors.

“Hey,” Belle greeted him and gasped when a furry head shot up in the empty space beside Gold. “Oh!”

“Belle, meet Wilby.” Gold chuckled and ruffled the dog’s hair. “He’s a rescue.”

Wilby rested his chin on the table gazed at her through innocent unblinking eyes. His narrow face was fringed by a orangy-brown mane, but his most distinct feature was his round black and pink nose.

“Hey Wilby!” Belle cooed and reached across to scratch his head. “Did you get him from the shelter?”

“No, I found him wandering in the alley last night after my shift at the Rabbit Hole.” He replied.

Gold had scoured all of Storybrooke for a good job and with his expertise in antiques, as well as being able to do wood working, she had been certain that he’d find something. Especially when Belle offered herself up as a personal reference. But the second anyone heard that he had a prison record, he would be rejected. When word spread that he had murdered his wife and his son was unaccounted for, the locals of Storybrooke distanced themselves. Mothers yanked their children away, little old ladies risked traffic and crossed the street to not walk on the same side as him, teenagers hurled profanity-laced insults at him.

The owner of the Rabbit Hole, however, hired him on the spot, telling Gold that no one would dare start a bar fight during his shifts, or else risk a murderer’s wrath. The employer had been right; since Gold started working there, the police were hardly ever called in to break up a brawl.

Belle eased back in her seat and flashed him a bemused smile. “I had no idea that you liked dogs.”

“They’re pure souls, they don’t judge.” Gold stroked the dog’s thick coat and directed his gaze at Wilby. “I helped train dogs in prison.”

Belle nodded her head in agreement. She laid her hands on the table and laced her fingers together, enjoying Gold and Wilby’s interactions. A dog was precisely what he needed.

One of the waitresses, Ashley Boyd, sashayed over to the table and scrunched her thin nose. “Granny says the dog has to go.” She simpered.

“I saw someone bring in their Golden Retriever the other day.” Gold mumbled his retort and kept his head low. “And it was not a service dog.”

Ashley held up her hands. “Look, I don’t want any trouble, but we will call the police if we have to.”

Gold’s cheek twitched, but didn’t respond.

Belle shot the waitress a withering look. This was not the first time the locals refused to serve Gold; they went out of their way to treat him like dirt. At first, she understood. After all, Gold was a murderer. But the more time she spent with Gold, the better she got to know him, Belle had come to the conclusion that there was more to his wife’s murder and son’s disappearance than meets the eye. From all of his letters – which she repeatedly perused – to the time she spent with him, the conversations they had, his behavior…Belle could not believe that Gold was responsible for his wife’s death. Or that he had done away with son.

She didn’t care what the evidence said or what he had confessed to. None of it added up. A ruthless murderer would not allow himself to be pushed around, he would defend himself. A murderer would not be able to beguile a stray dog into loving him. As far as she knew, dogs were excellent judges of character.

Gold never once mentioned his wife’s death or his son’s disappearance. He had to know that she, as well as the rest of Storybrooke, had unlimited access to the newspaper articles. That she couldn’t be ignorant.

“Let’s go.” Belle scooted out of the booth and sneered in the direction of the counter. “The food is overpriced here anyway.”

Gold gave Wilby a gentle nudge and waited until the dog climbed out before moving. He guided Wilby towards the exit, using the leash, and held the door open for Belle to leave first.

“Sorry about that,” Gold offered her his arm and when she took it, he continued, “I can cook for us, if you’re still hungry.”

“Yes, that sounds great.” Belle chirped and prayed that she didn’t sound too pathetically cheerful. She leaned closer to him as the three of them began to walk to his apartment.  
She could feel the heavy thrum of his pulse beneath his sleeve. His breath quickened and she detected a flush rising above the collar of his shirt, and inching its way up to his cheeks.

Gold couldn’t be a murderer. A gentle soul such as he, who befriended stray dogs and treated her like a lady, couldn’t be a murderer. There had to be some sort of explanation. That it was an accident, or he was covering for someone like his son, or he had been framed. Perhaps his wife killed herself by jumping down the stairs, but made her suicide look like a murder to frame her husband. She had read a book like that once.

 _That seems insane._ Belle rolled her eyes at the last one, but to her it made more sense than what was accepted as truth.

She’d get to the bottom of this mystery and then find a way to clear Gold’s name. He deserved a fresh start.

#

Belle sat down beside Gold on his tattered and patched, but comfortable sofa. His apartment was small, consisting of nothing more than a living room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. But it offered them privacy. Other than Wilby, who had curled up in the corner of the room on his doggy bed, no one would bother them.

A full wine glass in hand, she crossed her leg beneath her and bobbed a bit on the cushion until she settled down. Her stomach was full and she was a little heady from the wine, but she felt emboldened and knew it was precisely what she needed.

 _Sweet man._ She mused as she watched him nurse his glass. If she wanted their relationship to progress from friendship to the next level, she would have to be the one to make a move. Gold never demanded anything of her, yet he gave her everything. She would never presume to force herself on him, but while he had been making spaghetti for their dinner, she found a framed photograph of herself near his recliner. It was the photo that she had sent him when he was in prison. _I think I might mean as much to him as he means to me._

Gold set his glass down on the coffee table and his reddish-stained lips expanded into a bashful smile as he looked at her. His longish hair fell forward, framing his handsome face.

Belle put her glass down too, and leaning towards him, resting her hand on his thigh, she brushed her lips lightly against his. He tasted of grapes. When she pulled back a degree, she giggled at the shock on his face.

“What – what just h-happened?” He sputtered, his eyes rounded in terror.

Belle gulped loudly. _Had I misread his signals?_ He had invited her to his place for a meal and she had assumed that he wanted a more intimate setting. And then there was the photograph of her that he had kept.

“I’m sorry, I thought that you liked me. In a romantic sense.” Belle blinked back her tears, cursing herself for being too impetuous. She ought to have talked to him first.

“I – I do.” Two dark spots colored his high cheek bones. He rubbed his thumb against chin. “But, I mean, I was in prison, Belle. I killed my wife. I’m a murderer.”

Belle gave him a knowing look, but decided not to pressure him into telling the truth. When he trusted her, he’d tell her what really happened and why he was lying. “I know you. You would never hurt me and I want to be with you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.” Gold snorted and rolled his eyes. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think you could think of me that way. I’ll never know why you befriended me or why you continue to stand by me.”

Belle straddled Gold’s lap and felt encouraged when he put his hands on her hips. She could feel him hardened beneath her and she longed for them to shed their restrictive clothing, so that he could be inside of her. She buried her hands in his floofy hair and slanted her mouth over his, relishing in his breathless moans, which guided her along, showing her what he liked. Her heart soared when he began to respond and he slid his tongue into her mouth.

Heat pooled in her belly. She wanted everything and she wanted it now.

Tearing her mouth from his, Belle swallowed. “Get in me, please.”

“Belle!” Gold swallowed, his Adam’s apple quivering. He whined when she nipped at his throat, leaving her mark on him. “I – it’s been a long time for me. I won’t last.” His sounded raw and desperate.

“That’s fine.” Belle shrugged and dipping her head down, she sucked on his lower lip. “Practice makes perfect.”

Gold tipped her to the side, onto the couch cushions and climbed on top of her. “Are you sure?” He gently cupped her cheek and gazed down, his pupils dilated and his irises soft.

Belle felt her skirt fall back as she her legs around his waist, pinning him to her. “Yes!” She exclaimed, kissing him once more.

Gold maneuvered his hand between them and fumbled with his belt and button, then he drew himself out. Belle let out a breathy moan when he crooked his finger beneath the waist band of her panties and pulled them down. Her heart slammed into her ribcage as he traced his index finger along her folds, spreading her juices around.

“Please!” Belle rasped and grasped his shoulder, feeling as though she might lose her mind if they waited much longer.

Gold guided his length inside of her and they paused to adjust to one another. He met her gaze once more and after receiving a nod, they moved together in a rhythmic pattern.

Belle nearly bit through her tongue when he rubbed her clit. She let out a shout, which was followed long after a shout of his own. Their first time together wasn’t perfect, it was awkward and cramped and short, but she loved it and wouldn’t change a thing.

Gold braced himself up on his elbows and framed her face with his hands. He feathered her eyes, nose, cheeks and mouth in kisses.

Belle hugged him and kissed the corner of his mouth. _No, he can’t be a murderer._ He couldn’t be so gentle and be a murderer. She sighed contentedly as he rested his head on her chest and soon began to doze.

#

Belle squinted and moaned as the morning light filtered through the threadbare curtains. She turned over and wrapped her arms around Gold’s torso and snuggled into him. They didn’t live together per se, but often spent the night at each other’s places, talking and love making. Never before had she had such an attentive lover. Gold was always thoughtful and respectful, defying the stereotype of how desperate ex-convicts were when they got out of prison.

The alarm clock on his nightstand let out a shrill shriek. She buried her face into his neck and held him tighter. “Just five more minutes.” She grumbled and mouthed kisses down his bare chest. “Don’t leave me.”

“Mmm, I have a day shift. I have to get up.” Was Gold’s drowsy response. He combed his fingers through her mussed hair and wound a strand around his digit. “I have tomorrow off, so I can make it up to you then.”

Belle sat up on her heels and nodded reluctantly. “All right.”

Gold scooted out of bed, and for a second, she got to enjoy the view of his bare backside, and then he turned back around. “I’m going to take a quick shower, then I have to go, but you can stay as long as you’d like.”

They kissed once more and Belle sank back down into bed, nodding off as she listened to him move about in the apartment. Wilby’s nails clicked on the hardwood floor as he trailed after his master.

She slept another hour, showered and dressed, and then went to the library for her shift.

Belle headed up the walk, feeling as though she were on cloud nine, until she reached the library itself. A tall, dark haired man, with a muscular frame encased in tight leather was pacing back and forth near the entrance.

“The library opens in a half hour.” She informed the man in her modulate, librarian tone.

The man stalked over and crossed his arms. “Are you Belle French?”

“Yes,” Belle nodded, overwhelmed by the man’s size and how he towered over her. But she was determined not to let this man overwhelm her. “How can I help you?”

“Oh no, darling, it’s how I’m going to help you. Word around Storybrooke is that you’re with Damian Gold, aren’t you?” He put out his hand, bejeweled in gaudy rings, and flashed her a wide grin when she didn’t reciprocate his gesture. “The name is Killian Jones. I was Milah Gold’s lover. Well, one of them anyway.” He winked. “We weren’t exclusive.”

“Oh,” Belle gasped and took an involuntary step back. Studying the man, observing his dark looks and charming demeanor, she was convinced that Killian Jones probably had more of a motive to kill Milah than anyone. He fit the jealous lover stereotype to a T. “You have my condolences. It was unfortunate what happened.”

“Unfortunate?” Killian scoffed and shook his head. “Is that what Gold told you? That Milah’s death was unfortunate?”

Belle squared her shoulders. “Whatever Gold said to me in regards to Milah, it’s our business.”

“Everyone says you’re a nice girl. I can tell that you are. I don’t want to see another woman go through what Milah did. What are you doing with the likes of him?” Killian waved her off before she could form a coherent answer. “Never mind, your reasons are your own. But you need to hear the truth from someone who witnessed everything. Gold murdered Milah and God only knows what he did with his son.”

“Oh, so you were present when Milah died?” Belle shot back, unfazed by his accusations. She knew that he was all talk. Of course, he would say anything to make his former lover’s husband look bad. “You witnessed it?”

“Didn’t have too. I knew it was coming though.” Killian replied and the color slowly drained from his face. His mouth tightened into a grimace. “Gold used to beat her. Savagely. I saw the bruises. There’s documentation too; the police collected the hospital records and the photos are grisly. Is it a wonder that Milah turned to me, or others for comfort, when she had that poor excuse of a man to come home to?”

Belle schooled her features but couldn’t keep her voice from wavering when she declared, “I don’t care what you say, I don’t believe you.”

“No, of course you don’t. You’re in love with him, you only see the best in him.” Killian rolled his eyes, which to her looked glassy from unshed tears. “You are forgetting one major fact. Gold confessed to murdering Milah. He went into detail and showed the police step by step what he did and how he did it. The papers reported it. Why would he confess to something like that if he didn’t do it? What would be the point?”

Belle shrank back and had to fight the urge to flee. To run from Killian, she would be admitting defeat. She would be taking Killian’s word over Gold’s.

She paused. Except Gold confessed as much to me, that he was a murderer. Before they consummated their relationship for the first time, Gold blatantly told her that he had murdered Milah, and then he marveled at how she continued to stand by him. From all of their letters, the dog-rescue, their conversations, their dates, their love making – Belle made excuses for him. She had explained it all away. She didn’t want to see it.

Killian stepped out of her way and started down the sidewalk. He called back over his shoulder, “Do yourself a favor, get as far away from Gold as you can. Before you end up like Milah…or his son.”

Belle hurried to the door and shakily unlocked it. She went in, shut the door, and then locked it. Sinking down to the floor, she hugged her knees to her chest and began to cry.

_The man I love is a murderer._

#

Belle left work early, too distraught to focus on her daily tasks. Her assistant believed her fib, that she was ill, but then her pale complexion and shakiness was evidence enough that she wasn’t well. Rather than go home and hide away, she went to the park, to The Sweetheart Tree where she and Gold first met in person.

Her gaze settled on the tree and she studied the initials that had be etched in the bark. She zeroed in on the set that Gold had carved into the wood one Sunday afternoon. _D.G. + B.F._ With a heart outline barricading it.

Belle settled in between two large, thick roots and reclined against the trunk. Her phone chirped and after scrounging for it in her purse, she checked the screen… _Gold._ Sometimes he spontaneously dropped by the library to take her out for lunch. She turned it off and jammed it back into her bag.

The hour it took for Gold to track her down and arrive at the park passed quickly. She was absentmindedly plucking blades of grass when he sprinted up.

Gold was out of breath and panting, his narrow cheeks hollowing in and out. “Belle, what is it?” He knelt down to her level and he reached out to grasp her shoulder. When she shirked from him, he let his hand drop to his side. “Are you all right?”

Belle counted to ten, but could not compose herself enough to not appear hysterical. “Did you kill Milah?” She swiped at her face, but the tears continued to flow. “Did you kill your wife? What did you do to your son?”

Gold covered his mouth and slumped down on his backside. He looked as though he had been slapped. “Wh-what?”

Belle sniffed and between hiccups, ground out the words, “D-did y-you…did you kill M-milah?”

“Belle…” He shamefully lowered his head, but there was a twinge of defiance in his words, “I was in prison for her murder… I mean, we met because of that correspondence program. You know all of that.”

“But,” Belle began to push herself up and once again recoiled from him when he reached over to assist her. She rose to her feet, trembling all over. “We have never spoke of it. We have talked of anything and everything except what happened to Milah. And you never did say what happened to your son. And now I want to talk about it.”

Gold stood and brushed his slacks off. “Yes, but why now? After all of this time…”

“I met Killian Jones, Milah’s lover.” Belle crossed her arms.

Gold averted his eyes and slowly nodded. “I see.” He stuck his fingertips into his pockets. “Belle, I never claimed to be anything different than what I was. I’ve been honest from the start. I’m a murderer.”

“But it doesn’t make sense!” Belle exclaimed and her fingers twitched, itching to shake him. “You are so gentle and good and thoughtful…Wilby loves you and dogs, they’re good judges of character. I just don’t understand how you could murder your wife and son!”

Gold cringed at her harshly flung words, his mouth drawn into a frown. “I don’t know what to say, Belle.” He shrugged, “I love you, more than I have ever loved anyone. And I’m a murderer. You have to decide what you want to do about that. If you can’t accept that, I’ll understand. You know where I live if you want to find me. My feelings won’t change.” He nodded to her and mouthed, “Good bye, Belle.”

Belle hugged herself and leaned her shoulder against the tree, watching him as he departed, yearning to go after him. But she decided that couldn’t be with him until she figured out the truth.

_Whatever it may be._

**Author's Note:**

> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/171552596304/the-outsider


End file.
